


The Undiscovered Country

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Drama, Fourth Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-22 22:17:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3745382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An examination of Arwen’s journey through  the five stages of grief Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance.  Slightly AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Undiscovered Country

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

The Undiscovered Country  
  
  
He left her, of his own free will, he left her.  
  
Of course, he explained his decision, but in the end, all she knew was that he left her. She was alone now, more alone than she ever thought it possible to be. Never in the thousands of years of her life had she felt so totally and completely alone. A loving arm slipped around her waist and pulled her against a warm strong body, for a brief instant it was as though Estel was standing beside her, young again, until her gaze fell on the face of their son - the newly crowned King of Gondor. She reached up and gently ran her fingers over the winged crown on his head. Never before had she seen that crown on another’s brow. Arwen’s eyes slipped shut as she tried to deny what she knew in her heart to be true. Her husband was dead, her son was King, and she was empty. This could not be happening, it was not possible.  
  
The ceremony came to a close, and all of the mourners filed from the chamber, leaving only the former King of Gondor’s family behind. Arwen watched as her son, daughters, and their children took a moment to say a silent good-bye to the man who had been the center of their world since time remembered. When her son motioned her forward so she could say a final farewell, she simply shook her head.  
  
The new ruler exited the tombs of the Kings with two queens on his arm; one his wife, the other his mother.  
  
As the family filled through the streets lined with mourners Arwen could hear the murmurs, “Look at her, it as though a gray shadow passes amongst us. The light is gone from her eyes, where has our Evenstar gone?” were only a few of the comments she caught. It did not matter, for she no longer cared what her people thought of her.  
  
  
Arwen jerked upright in her bed, her heart pounding from a most horrible dream. Estel had left her, left her alone. She smiled at the silly thought and turned to look down upon her husband. Perhaps she would wake him and tell him of her nightmare. He could always soothe her fears. The other side of the bed was empty; in fact, she was not even in her bed, but on the smaller couch that sat in the ante-room off their bed chamber. And then it all came back: Estel, saying good-bye, the immense amount of pain that washed over her as his lifeless fingers slipped from her hand. He was gone. It was not a dream, it was real, and at this realization, a sob escaped her lips.  
  
The chamber door opened as a slight figure entered. “Mother, are you well? Do you need anything?” The voice was that of her youngest daughter.  
  
“No, nothing. I had a dream, I thought …. nothing.” She repeated.  
  
“I will sit with you until you sleep again then, shall I?”  
  
Arwen nodded, and without a word, settled back down on the bed. The night’s watches were called on the hour, and neither of the women in the room slept.  
  
Gradually, life returned to normal in the city of Minas Tirith: merchants sold their wares, crops were brought to market, property was bought and sold, youths married, babes were born, and the old died. Eldarion was kept busy establishing his kingship. Her daughters returned to their husbands and children, and Arwen remained alone. At least one of her children visited each day, but she expressed little interest in their conversation, only nodding and adding a word here and there. At night, she slipped from the royal apartments and wandered the streets of the city. Each doorway, each gate, each garden brought a bittersweet memory of Estel. A tree planted here, a kiss stolen there, a furtive embrace under that secluded gate. Each night the anger within her grew. She was alone in this world of men. She left her father, her brothers - all of her kin - behind to follow the call of her heart, and now the man in whose hands she had placed her very life was gone. He found his peace, and left her alone. She was broken, bleeding from a gaping wound that could never be healed. How dare he do this to her! How dare he leave her behind to suffer alone! She TRUSTED him, and this was the way she was repaid for her sacrifice. She should have listened to her father when he warned her of the bitterness of this choice. He was right; there was no healing for this pain. She continued to slip through the city streets nightly, a ghostly shadow flitting from door to door, pacing away her anger in sorrow.  
  
The wind whispered in gentle gusts through the shining glory of the leaves of autumn. Arwen sat in quiet contemplation on the bench positioned near the top of the slope of lawn. The grass was still a lush, verdant green, and the brightly colored leaves lay here and there like toys discarded by careless children, children who had been called into dinner, for dinner time it was. The sun hung low in the sky, golden beams dazzling through the trees to fall in streaming rays on the lawn spread before her. The year was dying, and yet, in its death, was a magnificent beauty. And Arwen played her game. I embraced this world of men. I brought eons of wisdom and grace to this realm. I stood at my husband’s side and leant him my ear, my strength and my love. Does that not deserve some reward? I embraced the fleeting cycle of life that is mortality. I made friends with the women and men of this city, of this country. I stood at their graves and wept, as I comforted their spouses and their children. I did all that was asked of me and more. Does that not deserve some lessening of this pain? Why should I still suffer when I have been faithful to my calling, faithful to my vows? Why have the Valar and Ilúvatar forsaken me? Do I not deserve comfort, some lessening of the pain that gnaws ever deeper into my being, leaving me weak and confounded? There is no joy to be found anywhere, not in the children and grandchildren Estel and I share, not in the peace and plenty we helped create for our people. Please, please send me some respite from this sorrow.  
  
The first signs of winter lay heavy on the city. The trees, stripped of their leaves, lifted stark and barren branches to a sky laden with the gray depths of the season. People moved sluggishly throughout the streets, errands done quickly, so they could once again seek the warmth of hearth and home. Arwen heard the whispered voices of her children. Mortality she may have chosen, but her elven senses were still in place. She could hear them as they voiced their concerns, muttered comments behind shielding hands. “She eats almost nothing. She seldom stirs from her room. She takes no interest in anything; no matter how hard I try, I get no reaction from her.”  
  
The same verses repeated again and again, over and over until she was sick of the sound of it. Arwen wished she could bring herself to care. She loved her children and her grandchildren, and she had no desire to bring them pain, but making the effort to ease their concern was more than she was capable of doing. Long days were spent in bed, gazing out of the windows, hours spent watching the bare branches of the trees in her garden swaying against a storm tossed sky. She would drowse and remember the garden when she first arrived in Minis Tirith, the trees mere saplings. Estel worked hard to provide a scene of beauty that she could gaze upon from their chamber windows. She could still see the light in his eyes as he unwound the blindfold from her temples so that she could see the surprise he created for her. She could still feel the warmth of his arms as she flung herself into them, smiling her pleasure. Her body quickened as she remembered leading him into their bedchamber so she could properly thank him for his thoughtfulness. She was lost in the memories of the smooth slide of skin against skin, the slow caresses that turned urgent with the intensity of their joining, their bodies striving together to reach the peak of their pleasure. Later, they lay wrapped in each others arms as he told her one day the trees would grow tall enough for her to watch through the windows, the branches and leaves moving in the wind.  
  
And he was right, they had grown. Many nights they lay twined together, slipping into sleep as the trees sang their lullabies. But now, she listened alone, and the song was no longer peaceful, but grating. No longer lulling her to rest, but jarring her from slumber.  
  
+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+  
  
She intended to quit the city before the depths of winter overtook them. Arwen knew her children still wished for her to stay. They wanted her to be what she once was, and what she knew she would never be again. It was time for the reckoning she always knew would be required of her.  
  
There was no fanfare for Arwen Undomiel, as she slipped out of Minas Tirith in the dark hours of the morning. The only ones who saw her pass through the city gates, were the guards on duty and the small group of men Eldarion insisted accompany her on this last journey. She had kissed and embraced each of her children one final time before retiring the night before. Though she did not look back, she sensed that her children stood on the top level of the city’s walls, their eyes straining through the shadows for one final glimpse before she was lost to them forever.  
  
After they reached the Field of Celebrant, she forced the party of men Eldarion sent with her to turn back. They protested with vehement voices, but she was still Arwen Undómiel and had been their Queen for all of their lives. In the end, she had her way. The left her reluctantly, and she knew they would probably watch her until she faded into the trees on the south side of the Silverlode. She kept her mare to a steady gait, and as she approached the line of trees that formed the southern border of Lothlorien, three figures on foot appeared silently from the forest. Arwen sighed as she gazed down at them. She knew they would be here. How they came to know of her decision was unclear, but know they did. These three were part of her history and her kin, and she was not sorry for their company.  
  
Silver hair cascaded down Celeborn’s back as he lifted his head to look into Arwen’s face; his eyes were filled with his love for her. She felt him searching her mind, seeking out her intent, “You are sure?” he asked.  
  
She nodded. “And I wish to do this alone.” She turned to the other two elves that stood with him. “I must do this alone.”  
  
Arwen dropped lightly to the ground and dismissed her mount with soft words of farewell. Both of her brothers moved forward in concert, gathering her into their arms. "We will see you safely across the river, and then leave you to your peace.” Arwen sighed with relief as she realized she would not have to argue her choice with them.  
  
On the north side of the Silverlode, she embraced her grandfather, lightly running her fingers over his familiar features. “Tell them I love them, tell them I met my end in my own way, tell them I was happy.” She stepped in between the two tall and stern elves, who shared her blood, and her memories. Tears traced down their identical cheeks, and she brushed them away. “I chose rightly, I know that now. As bitter as this ending is, it is my choice. Take the love I bear you across the sea. Keep me in your hearts, as I now go where you cannot.” And for the last time the three embraced, each holding the other, entwined in a perfect circle of love. This was something they had done all of their years, holding each other through pain and sorrow, and through joy and celebration.  
  
Arwen turned away from them and did not look back. She could feel their eyes on her as she disappeared among the Mellyrn. She knew her destination, and she walked through the Naith to Cerin Amroth without straying from her path. Arwen had no desire to go into the city of Caras Galadhon as of yet, she wished first to gaze upon the place where her memories were the happiest.  
Grief made her weak; this last great journey stripped her of what little strength she had left. She fought so hard to convince her children to let her go. She was grateful she had not had to fight against the last three who would see her alive. As she stood at the foot of the green hill, she slipped her feet from her shoes, so she could feel the grass underneath her unshod feet as she and Estel had all those long years ago. For a moment, it seemed as though a figure waited for her at the top of the mound. Her breath caught in her throat. She sprang forth gladly to meet the form garbed in silver gray, only to come to a sudden halt as it vanished into the mists of her mind. Arwen ‘s shoulders slumped in disappointment. Of course he was not there, he was gone from the borders of this earth. The only chance she had of seeing him again was to allow her self to fade and embrace the gift of men. She was compelled to trust blindly in her choice  
  
The days and weeks passed unmarked by Arwen. Each day she grew weaker, and the barriers between the present and the past were lifted in her mind. Once again, she walked the paths of Caras Galadhon, listening to the gentle voices of her mother, her grandmother, her grandfather and her father. Once again, she felt safe and loved, and the long years stretched before her full of possibilities. Still, occasionally, she would find herself pulled from a pleasant memory only to confront a dying and empty wood. The trees, twisted and bare, the land that only minutes before had been peopled by all those she loved, desolate and barren. But as more time passed, those brief moments of clarity faded, and Arwen dwelt in the joy and love of her youth. Her spirit burned brightly, but her body grew frail from lack of food and drink. The days grew colder, and still, she wandered in the time when her future lay before her.  
  
Twilight had fallen when she jerked from her dreams to find herself propped against the base of the gigantic Mallorn that once housed the home of her grandparents. Standing before her, clothed in gray and silver, stood a man dressed in the arraignment of a noble elf lord. His countenance and bearing reflected the heroes of old her father once spoke of in stories told in the Hall of Fire. A star blazed from his brow. He smiled down into her face. “I have been waiting, my love. I have watched and yearned for you, and now you are here.” He held his hand out to her to help her rise. “Come walk with me as we did so long ago.” Wordlessly, she placed her hand in his, and allowed him to lead her to that well loved knoll of grass surrounded by trees, “Do you remember this place?” he asked.  
  
“It was here I gave you my heart,” she answered. “It was here I pledged myself to you for all of my life.”  
  
“And it was here I promised that I would love you and treasure you for all of mine. It is a fitting place to finish what we started.”  
  
“Aragorn,” Arwen whispered as her knees buckled beneath her.  
  
“I never left you, my love, not really, and now the veil between us is naught but a whisper. Come to me. I am here.”  
  
She allowed her self to fall back on the fragrant bed of grass, sprinkled with Niphredil and Elanor. Some portion of her mind knew that they were flowers of spring, and it was yet winter, but she dismissed the thought as Aragorn moved to lie beside her.  
  
Gentle arms pulled her to him, and he said, “It is time to rest Arwen, time to move beyond that which you have always known and accept the gift of men. It is a magnificent gift, a gift from a loving creator. All fear, all tears, all pain, all worry will be gone, and he will wipe every tear from your eye.”  
  
She allowed her eyes to drift shut, but still, she could feel the comfort of his arms. Her breath slowed and then ceased altogether. At the last moment of awareness, she was flooded with joy and light, comforted by warmth and love unsurpassing. Briefly, she wondered why she had been so frightened. There was no fear here, only love. And the spirit of Arwen Undómiel slipped forever beyond the boundaries of Arda.  
  
"The undiscovered country from whose bourne no traveler returns." Hamlet, Act III, Scene 1.  
William Shakespeare


End file.
